Mr Cruden had the reputation of being one of the most respectable as
well as one of the richest men in his part of the county. And it is
fair to say he took far more pride in the former quality than the
latter. Indeed, he made no secret of the fact that he had not always
been the rich man he was when our story opens. But he was touchy on the
subject of his good family and his title to the name of gentleman, which
he had taught his sons to value far more than the wealth which
accompanied it, and which they might some day expect to inherit.
His choice of a school for them was quite consistent with his views on
this point. Wilderham was not exactly an aristocratic school, but it
was a school where money was thought less of than "good style," as the
boys called it, and where poverty was far less of a disgrace than even a
remote connection with a "shop." The Crudens had always been great
heroes in the eyes of their schoolfellows, for their family was
unimpeachable, and even with others who had greater claims to be
considered as aristocratic, their ample pocket-money commended them as
most desirable companions.
Mr Cruden, however, with all his virtues and respectability, was not a
good man of business. People said he let himself be imposed upon by
others who knew the value of money far better than he did. His own
beautiful estate at Garden Vale, Rumour said, was managed at double the
expense it should be; and of his money transactions and speculations in
the City--well, he had need to be the wealthy man he was, said his
friends, to be able to stand all the fleecing he came in for there!
Nevertheless, no one ever questioned the wealth of the Crudens, least of
all did the Crudens themselves, who took it as much for granted as the
atmosphere they breathed in.
On the day on which our story opens Mr Cruden had driven down into the
City on business. No one knew exactly what the business was, for he
kept such matters to himself. It was an ordinary expedition, which
consisted usually of half a dozen calls on half a dozen stockbrokers or
secretaries of companies, with perhaps an occasional visit to the family
lawyer or the family bank.
To-day, however, it had consisted of but one visit, and that was to the
bank. And it was whilst returning thence that Mr Cruden was suddenly
seized with the stroke which ended in his death. Had immediate
assistance been at hand the calamity might have been averted, but
neither the coachman nor footman was aware of what had happened till the
carriage was some distance on its homeward journey, and a passer-by
caught sight of the senseless figure within. They promptly drove him to
the nearest hospital, and telegraphed the news to Garden Vale; but Mr
Cruden never recovered consciousness, and, as the doctor told Horace,
before even the message could have reached its destination he was dead.
We may draw a veil over the sad scenes of the few days which followed--
of the meeting of the widow and her sons at the bedside of the dead, of
the removal of the loved remains home, of the dismal preparations for
the funeral, and all the dreary details which occupy mourners in the
house of death. For some time Mrs Cruden, prostrated by the shock of
her bereavement, was unable to leave her room, and the burden of the
care fell on the two inexperienced boys, who had to face it almost
single-handed.
For the Crudens had no near relatives in England, and those of their
friends who might have been of service at such a time feared to intrude,
and so stayed away. Blandford and Harker, the boys' two friends who had
been visiting at Garden Vale at the time of Mr Cruden's death, had left
as quietly and considerately as possible; and so great was the
distraction of those few sad days that no one even noticed their absence
till letters of condolence arrived from each.
It was a dreary week, and Reginald, on whom, as the elder son and the
heir to the property, the chief responsibility rested, was of the two
least equal to the emergency.
"I don't know what I should have done without you, old man," said he to
Horace on the evening before the funeral, when, all the preparations
being ended, the two boys strolled dismally down towards the river.
"You ought to have been the eldest son. I should never have thought of
half the things there were to be done if you hadn't been here."
"Of course, mother would have known what was to be done," said Horace,
"if she hadn't been laid up. She's to get up this evening."
"Well, I shall be glad when to-morrow's over," said Reginald; "it's
awful to have it all hanging over one like this. I can't believe father
was alive a week ago, you know."
"No more can I," said the other; "and I'm certain we shall not realise
how we miss him for long enough yet."
They walked on for some distance in silence, each full of his own
reflections.
Then Horace said, "Mother is sure to want to stay on here, she's so fond
of the place."
"Yes, it's a comfort she won't have to move. By the way, I wonder if
she will want us to leave Wilderham and stay at home now."
"I fancy not. Father wanted you to go to Oxford in a couple of years,
and she is sure not to change his plan."
"Well, I must say," said Reginald, "if I am to settle down as a country
gentleman some day, I shall be glad to have gone through college and all
that sort of thing before. If I go up in two years, I shall have
finished before I'm twenty-three. Hullo, here's mother!"
The boys ran forward to greet Mrs Cruden, who, pale but smiling, came
quietly down the garden towards them, and after a fond embrace laid her
hands on the arm of each and walked slowly on between them.
"You two brave boys," said she, and there was a cheery ring in her voice
that sent comfort into the hearts of both her sons, "how sorry I am to
think of all you have had to go through, while I, like a silly weak
woman, have been lying in bed."
"Oh, mother," said Horace, with a face that reflected already the
sunshine of hers, "how absurd to talk like that! I don't believe you
ought to be out here now."
"Oh yes, I ought. I've done with that, and I am strong enough now to
stand beside the boys who have stood so bravely by their mother."
"We'd be a nice pair of boys if we didn't, eh, Reg?" said Horace.
Reginald's reply was a pressure of his mother's hand, and with a rainbow
of smiles over their sorrowful hearts the three walked on lovingly
together; the mother with many a brave, cheery word striving to lift her
sons above their trouble, not only to hope of earthly comfort, but to
trust in that great Father of the fatherless, beside whom all the love
of this world is poor and fleeting.